Servant of the Game
by The Prickly Pear
Summary: When you live your life as a piece of a never ending game there will come the day when someone decides to change the rules. Team-Centric. No Pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title:**_

_Servant of the Game**  
**_

_**Author:**_

_The Prickly Pear**  
**_

_**Genre:**_

_Adventure/Suspense/Friendship**  
**_

_**Rating:**_

_T __(__For mature themes and coarse language)**  
**_

_**Summary: **_

_When you live your life as a piece of a never ending game there will come the day when someone decides to change the rules. Team-Centric.**  
**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_This is an idea I've had playing around my head for some time and I'm hoping the premise of this story is different from what you usually see floating around. I have a vague idea where I want to go with it but any comments/suggestions/constructive criticism, are greatly appreciated. Please enjoy!**  
**_

_**Disclaimer:**_

_Any characters you recognize are property of NCIS Los Angeles's rightful owners. All the Original Characters, however, belong to me. These characters may not be used in any form without my express permission. This fanfiction is written solely for my amusement, no money has been made whatsoever.**  
**_

_**Happy Reading!  
**_

* * *

**Chapter One**

_**Hetty**_

She had picked the spot herself. Over a series of days she came to know every inch of the grounds like the back of her own hand. She padded over every blade of grass, inspected every tree, paused at every bush, and even took the time to calculate the sunlight that would fall upon each place day by day. She had walked every path, studied every fountain, mounted and descended every curve of the earth slowly and with purpose, taking it all in, understanding it all. She considered the residents already there, how many there were in one area, who they were and how often they were visited, if at all.

He'd never liked crowds, searching them out only when he needed a way to get lost. He was the man who learned more through watching and a few well placed comments than most people could in days of conversation and was perfectly contented to do so. He would never have fit in with the others, never have appreciated having strangers passing by all day and night, nor (though he would never have admitted it) would he have liked to be left completely alone. For she had known him, and he'd known her and with that knowledge she'd found the spot. The perfect spot. His spot.

It got sun only in the afternoon, the brightest of the day yet it touched ground with a softness brought on by the leaves acting as a filter overhead. The greenery formed a sort of semicircle around it, sheltered it, offering itself up as cover and keeping him safe while he watched over the rest of the residents from afar. Everything seemed brighter here, more vivid, as though the contrast between the shadows and the golden light created a sort of magic which had the whole spot glowing. But it was a subtle glow, one only noticed if you looked at it right, if you took the time to study what would have been otherwise overlooked. Like him.

She walked towards it in silence, the thick grass muting any sound her footsteps may have made as he came into sight. Nothing had changed since her last visit save for the last few leaves falling sadly from the bouquet of flowers which had been their home and littering the ground around him. Without thinking she made her way forward and stooped to collect them, tucking them away in her coat pocket to be disposed of later.

"Miss Blye's flowers seemed to have reached their end," she said with a sad chuckle, "I'm sure neither one of you will mind if I remove what's left of them."

Silence met her statement just as it met everything said in their quiet little sanctuary. With a heavy sigh Hetty pulled a blanket from the bag slung over her shoulder and laid it down carefully, spreading it as far as the fabric would allow before settling on it. He sat before her, at least what remained of him, ridged and still as the slab of stone he was. It was a plain tomb, exactly what she was certain he would have wanted. Nothing flashy, nothing to draw attention, it simply was, it existed and it served its purpose.

Tracing her withered fingers over the equally plain engraving she frowned slightly. An incomplete name and nothing more. It was all he'd ever had... "Oh Mr. Callen," she sighed, letting her hand fall away again as she gazed at the speckled stone.

She'd given up asking why. Why Callen? Why not her? Why when he'd never even learned who he was? Why before he could truly find his place in the world? Why before he could learn to understand family? Why before he could learn to trust? The list went on and on but it all was useless. The whys did nothing, answered nothing, brought her no comfort and left him dead. Everything left him dead. Nothing would ever change that.

"I wonder if you're still mad at me..." she mused softly, smiling wryly at the stone, "For leaving, I mean, for abandoning the team... I wonder if you'll forgive me..." The smile slipped from her face as she straightened the few gifts surrounding him, making sure everything looked just as it should. It was all she could do now to take care of him. It was all she had left. "I did try, Mr. Callen," she continued sadly, "I tried to stay, to hold everyone together, to be strong. But this was not just another agent I had lost, this was you, and I could not stay knowing I had failed you."

Her voice broke and she turned away, blinking back the prickling sensation in the corner of her eyes. She had shed her tears for him already. In the privacy of this shaded patch of grass when no one was watching she had let herself cry, some desperate part of her waiting for the one person who could always tell when something was troubling her to come and find her and make everything alright again. But Callen was gone so no one came. It was then that she decided she could not carry on, that change was in order and she had resigned the very next day. She had lasted a month but she could manage no more than that. Her world had ended the day Callen died in a way she would never have believed possible, at least not for her. She'd seen so much, lost so much and been the cause of so much loss that one more death should not have affected her so, but then G Callen had never really done what he was supposed to...

She smiled at the thought, a real smile, the kind brought to her face only rarely these days. It had been three months since that dreadful day, two since she'd walked out of NCIS and finally, finally, she was ready to move on. "I'm leaving Los Angeles, Mr. Callen," she told him, her voice having regained its steady and measured tone, "Going to those remote islands we spoke of, to indulged in the finest of food and drink, to read a good novel in the afternoon sun. I'm going to live in a world where I need only one identity, where people can know my name I know theirs. I'm going to live."

She reached into her bag, which was now lying next to her on the blanket, and pulled out a thermos of tea. Not the best way to enjoy it but the only method left to her should she like to share it with her friend. "I leave this afternoon," she continued, her little smile growing slightly as she spoke, "And I know goodbyes will be in order, but not just yet," Reaching out to run her hand over the cold stone once more she allowed her smile to grow sad. "Right now I thought we could talk, reminisce perhaps about our more enjoyable days one last time..."

* * *

_**Sam**_

"_This is the most pointless argument we've ever had," Sam grumbled, refusing to so much as glance in his partner's direction as they made their way out of a busy sandwich joint and rejoined the sparse crowd wandering the sidewalk._

_Callen made no effort to hide the smirk on his face as he glanced down at the cause of their latest tiff before taking a bite. "You just wish you could win it, that's all," he quipped._

"_You bought a sandwich from a witness!" said Sam, rolling his eyes, "And you honestly think Hetty isn't going to kill you?"_

_The younger man gave a sort of half-shrug before taking another bite his meal. "Don't tell her," he suggested calmly, before popping the last of it into his mouth._

_Sam shook his head and was about to reply when a single, all too familiar sound cut through the air. The sharp crack of a gunshot. Without hesitation his weapon flew out of its holster and into his hand as he searched the immediate area for the shooter or even his victim but nothing stood out. It was just a sea of faces staring back at him, some confused, others alarmed but all very much alive._

"_Sam..." _

_Turning to respond to his partner the ex SEAL was completely unprepared for what met his eyes. Blood, and lots of it leaking from Callen's chest as he crumpled to the sidewalk..._

Sam's eyes slid open abruptly and he blinked several times as the many forms of the OSP office came into focus around him, illuminated by the morning light filtering through the windows. Letting out a heavy sigh the dark skinned agent ran a hand over his face and sat up slowly in the desk chair which had served as his bed since heed arrived at work nearly half an hour ago. Glancing around the bullpen he was pleased to find that no one else seemed to have been privy to his most recent nightmare not that it would have been much of a surprise to any of them if they had been. Since Callen's death not one member of the team had been running at one hundred percent and they all knew it, even so their pride stipulated they hide the pain from each other as best they could. It was all they knew how to do. The soft sound of approaching footsteps told him he had awoken just in time and he worked quickly to push the sadness from his face before turning towards the sound in anticipation.

Sure enough, mere moments later Nate poked his head around the divider with a grim expression on his face. He seemed to have come with something specific to say but noticed Sam's bloodshot eyes and sighed. "Another dream?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied, making almost no effort to hide the lingering exhaustion in his voice, something he knew would never have happened three months ago, "What's going on?"

"Abduction case," the psychologist replied, letting his co-worker's answer slide with only a slightly disapproving frown, "A three month old baby was just taken from a home on-base. Natasha wants us all upstairs."

Almost thankful for the distraction despite its horrible nature Sam slipped his professional mask into place and stood up. "Get the others," he ordered, "I'll meet you up there."

With a single nod Nate was gone, leaving the doorway empty once more. Sam shook his head as the younger man disappeared, chasing the last traces of Callen's shocked voice from his mind before making his way up the stairs at a jog. So much had changed since his partner's death, Nate had been returned to OSP on a fulltime bases by Hetty to help them deal with the loss and after she left barely a month later he'd had to help with those repercussions as well. Repercussions which came in the form of two empty positions needing to be filled and a team struggling to find their way. But he couldn't think about that now, not while he was on the clock and he was thankful for that.

He reached the Ops Center in a matter of seconds, the automatic door sliding open before him as he strode in, portraying a confidence he did not feel. He didn't feel much of anything since Callen... But he pushed the thoughts away again and settled his mind on his current task instead. Eric was at his computer, hands flying over the keyboard before him as Nell did much the same thing to his left. The pair didn't even look up as he entered, they were so focused on whatever they were doing. One pair of eyes did meet his, however, and he nodded politely to the Operations Manager with the impossible task of replacing the Duchess of Deception herself.

Natasha Sedgwick was, of course, a great agent in her own right and an experienced Operations Manager having worked for NCIS in the same capacity on several other occasions. She was rather tall for a woman with long, naturally greying hair which was always tied back in some form of bun or braid giving her an air of professionalism which was not at all diminished by her personality. For the first few weeks she had attempted the 'friendly new manager' persona but the team's frosty response had ended that experiment rather quickly. Hetty would not be replaced, that had become abundantly clear, and they had come to a sort of unspoken agreement never to attempt it again.

"Sam," she greeted calmly, exposing yet another difference between herself and her predecessor, the use of first names on a regular bases.

"Natasha," the dark skinned agent returned, "Nate's rounding up the others."

"Good, we'll need all hands on deck for this one."

Sam nodded again and folded his arms across his chest, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as the now all too familiar awkward silence fell over them broken only by Eric and Nell's continued typing. Life within OSP's walls had been this way since the phony cheerfulness had come to an end, awkward, tense and overall just unpleasant. It wasn't that either of the new recruits were unpleasant in their own right but rather that they came into the team at a most unfortunate time. Still, it was better than the fake sense of unity Natasha had originally been trying for, at least to him. He had no intention of forgetting what they'd lost.

The doors slid opened once more, interrupting his train of thought, and the rest of the team entered at a hurried pace. Kensi led the way, to no one's surprise; her dominating personality had only increased in the past few months in what Sam strongly suspected was a coping mechanism and she'd seemingly made it her personal mission to keep their new teammate at arm's length. The man in question followed her into the room, giving Sam a quick smile which looked more like a grimace than anything else, almost as though he was begging the older man to save him from Kensi.

Special Agent Cameron Michael Neely was a first time agent, recruited by the CIA but transferred to NCIS directly after he had finished training without ever taking part in an op. He had been Hetty's pick to replace Callen and though no one was happy with the idea of bringing in a newbie to replace someone as talented as G, the respect they held for their former Operations Manager was high enough that they allowed it to happen. He wasn't all that bad either and though Sam would never say it to his face he could see why Hetty had picked him, he would be a good agent one day.

"So, what's going on?" Deeks asked, bringing up the rear as he ducked into the room behind Cameron, "Nate said something about a baby..."

Natasha nodded, looking grim. "Eva Rowland," she explained, gesturing to the main screen where Eric had projected the picture of a dark haired baby in a pink jumpsuit, "Daughter of Lieutenants Sarah and Jackson Rowland, was taken from their home last night." She glanced at Eric who quickly flashed up each parents' service record. "The Rowlands are both information analysts with top secret security clearance so the fear is that Eva has been taken to exchange for classified information."

"Has there been a ransom demanded?" Kensi asked, moving to stand in front of the screen, Deeks right on her heels.

"No," Natasha replied, "There's been no contact of any kind."

Sam sighed and dropped his arms to his side, turning to face the others before speaking. "We need eyes and ears inside that house and with that family at all times," he said briskly, "Kensi, Deeks, Nate, you three take the house. Check the abduction site for and monitor the phone lines. I wanna make sure everything runs smoothly from that end and Nate, we'll need a reading of everyone involved. Neely, you and me are going to go at this from the other end, starting with the parents' co-workers and anyone who might want what they know."

"On it," said Kensi with a single nod as she moved swiftly for the door.

"Wait a moment," Natasha called suddenly, pausing until everyone had looked her way before continuing, "There will be one more complication you should all be aware of."

"What's that?" Deeks asked unnecessarily earning himself a glare from Sam and Kensi.

The new Operations Manager did not follow their lead, taking the interruption in stride instead. "I have just been informed that the FBI has launched an investigation into this branch of NCIS," she said calmly, "So do not be surprised if they make their presence felt. They have assured me they will not interfere with our case but I have learned over the years never to take the assurances of that particular agency to seriously."

"What the hell are they investigating us for?" Sam demanded, anger lacing his every word, "What have we done that concerns them?"

"It is not what we have done as an agency but rather what one of our agents has done," said Natasha, with the air of someone choosing their words carefully.

"Which agent?" Kensi snapped, taking on much the same tone as Sam, "Because if you honestly think that someone here is – "

"Agent Callen, Kensi."

The words caught everyone off guard and when finally the odd silence which fell over them was broken it was the newest agent who spoke. "Callen? But isn't he... Dead?"

If looks could kill Cameron Neely would have been a pile of ash on the floor from the glares sent his way by every other agent in the room. Even Eric and Nell were staring at him from their computers, their looks matching those of their coworkers. You did not touch on the subject of their fallen team member if you wanted to live, Sam and Kensi had made that abundantly clear within mere days of both Agent Neely and Natasha's hirings and Deeks was quick to back them up on it.

Choosing to control his suddenly surging emotions as best he could Sam turned back to their new Operations Manager and pointedly ignored the younger man. "G didn't do anything worth investigating," he said in a voice of forced calm, "He was a damn good agent and an even better man. What right do they have to try and destroy that?"

Natasha sighed heavily. "I don't know, Sam. It was simply out of courtesy that I was even informed of the investigation, I don't have any of the specifics."

"Well you'd better get them then," said Kensi coldly, her furious gaze moving to the older woman as she spoke, "It's your job isn't it? To make sure we have everything we need, including information?" She gave her new boss a challenging look before turning on her heel and heading for the door. "Deeks, Nate, let's go," she barked over her shoulder.

Deeks hurried after her without question, obviously sensing the danger in the air while Nate gave Natasha an apologetic smile before doing the same thing.

Sam took his turn to sigh as he watched his teammates disappear and gave them a moment's head start before heading towards the door himself. "Eric, send me everything you've got on the parents," he ordered, "Neely, you're with me." He was two steps out of the Ops Center when he stopped dead in his tracks, the still surging emotions in his chest causing him to turn around once more and poke his head back into the darkened room. "And Natasha, for the record, I agree with Kensi." And with that he walked off, not really caring if his new partner was following or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two  
**

_**Kensi**_

The Rowland family home was modest in its simplicity; beige walls lined the living room where they had gathered matching easily with the sandy tone of the furniture and drapes. To Kensi the low maintenance design brought back memories of countless family moments. A mother, father and daughter seated together around a board game or television set smiling and laughing at some unheard joke... She allowed herself a small, nostalgic smile as she glanced around before slipping back into the professional mask which had been her life for the past three months. She couldn't afford to think about the past, no matter how distant it may be.

"This sure is a lot of brown," Deeks muttered in her ear as he appeared behind her, "Ow!" A sharp glare and even sharper elbow were thrown his way discreetly by his partner and the detective rubbed his side. "What was that for?"

"Their daughter is missing, Deeks, show some respect," Kensi muttered coldly before stalking off to look around the admittedly brown-toned room.

The blonde opened his mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it because he closed it again without a word choosing instead to glance back at Nate, who was bringing up the rear, with his eyebrows raised. The psychologist merely shook his head and sighed softly, knowing full well that now was not the moment for any kind of insight even if they had wanted to hear it.

"I'm sorry about the mess." Sarah Rowland entered the living room from the kitchen with her husband in toe and a tray loaded with coffee mugs trembling in her hands, "I was planning to do some cleaning this weekend, Eva likes watching the vacuum..." Her hands trembled still more vigorously at the mention of her daughter's name.

"It's alright, Lieutenant," said Kensi quickly, stepping forward to take the tray in her own hands before the hot liquid could be spilled, "Why don't you have a seat, we just need to ask you and your husband a few questions."

The mother nodded mutely and sunk gratefully into the sandy cushions, one hand running distractedly through her hair while the other found its way into her husband's grasp as he settled beside her.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Deeks asked gently, changing his demeanour in a way only experienced undercover operators (or police detectives, in his case) could. He reached out and took a cup from the tray his partner had set down on the coffee table before lowering himself into an armchair across from the Rowlands and taking a sip.

"Eva's such a good sleeper," Sarah Rowland said softly, her voice tight with barely controlled emotions, "I put her down last night, just like always. She never wakes us..." Her voice broke and bowed her head, tears spilling slowly down her cheeks.

"We didn't think anything of it," the father continued, squeezing his wife's hand as she leaned into his shoulder, "Not until we went to wake her..."

"Eva sleeps in her own room?" Nate asked from his position in the doorway, looking mildly surprised.

"N-no," Mrs. Rowland chocked out, "And we didn't hear them!"

Kensi exchanged a look with Deeks. Taking a baby out from under the parents' noses was not something most criminals would ever dream of, not unless they didn't care about being caught or were supremely confident in their abilities. Both of which were ominous thoughts. "So you have no way of knowing when your daughter was taken?" she asked, fully aware of how bluntly she was phrasing the question.

Jackson Rowland shook his head. "I woke up around one to check on her and give her a quick feeding before putting her back to sleep... She looked so peaceful..." he answered thickly, dragging one hand across his face and pinching the bridge of his nose, "We didn't get up again until just after seven."

Six hours. Kensi very nearly sighed out loud knowing full well what could be accomplished in a six hour window, none of which were good for a three month old baby. "Do you mind if we take a look around the bedroom?" she asked, "It's possible whoever did this left something behind."

Both parents nodded and Mr. Rowland cleared his throat. "Her crib is just the way we found it," he said softly.

"No," said Mrs. Rowland suddenly, "No it's not. I touched the blanket. I picked it up when I saw she wasn't..." She took a deep breath before continuing. "When I saw she wasn't there. Then I threw it back."

The young agent smiled sadly. "That's alright," she said rising from her chair, "We won't be long." Gesturing for Deeks to follow her she made her way towards the hallway, pausing just long enough to mutter a quick instruction to Nate. "Keep talking to them," she told him, "Get a reading."

Just as Mr. and Mrs. Rowland had indicated Eva's crib sat in the corner of their bedroom, a pink flannel blanket lying in a pile upon the tiny mattress where the distraught mother had left it. Kensi crossed the room quickly, slipping on a pair of rubber gloves as she did so and peering into bed. Pink and purple elephants stared up at her from the mattress cover as she ran her hand over the surface looking and feeling for anything that might have been left behind.

"Okay, what's wrong with this picture?" Deeks asked softly, coming up behind her and looking over her shoulder as she worked.

"What's right with it?" his partner replied darkly. She shook her head and lifted the blanket, holding it up to the light and turning it over in her hands thoughtfully. "We've got a criminal who takes a three month old baby from her parents' bedroom without waking anyone and then doesn't call in a ransom. Who does that?" Setting the blanket back down she ran her hands along the edge of the mattress, feeling around underneath it carefully. "I mean, if I was going to go to all the trouble to get the kid I'd have called them by now. They've had Eva for at least three hours, probably a lot longer..." she continued, "And we still don't even know how they got in, the parents didn't mention any sign of a break-in..." She paused for a moment and glanced at the blonde haired man behind her. "Feel free to weigh in at any time here," she snapped.

"I was talking about the picture of the crib," said Deeks with a shrug and one of his infuriating smiles, "But your ideas are good too."

Kensi glared. "What about the crib?" she demanded, pulling her hands out from under the mattress having found nothing.

"Why are there no toys?" the detective asked simply, "I mean, don't parents normally drowned their babies in stuffed animals and things like that?"

"Mine didn't," Kensi replied slowly, "But you're right, I still had one or two toys with me at all times..." She sighed heavily. "Dammit, Deeks I don't know," she admitted, staring around the room as though hoping it would provide her with some kind of inspiration, "But something definitely wrong about this."

* * *

_**Sam**_

The silence within the Challenger was deafening, an oppressing lack of sound which put Sam on edge and had his fingers clenching the wheel just a fraction harder than normal. Three months ago his partner had gone quiet only when he was thinking, when he was blocking out thoughts or emotions he knew would do him no good. A lack of banter between them meant, with almost dead certainty, that Callen would go lone wolf on him if left to his own devices. But his best friend was gone, and with him the meaning silence had come to hold. Its cause now was a nervous newbie who knew damn well that he'd just succeeded in rubbing every member of his team the wrong way. Again.

It just seemed that Neely had no concept of what they had lost, and what that loss had done to those who remained. Granted, the boy was a first time agent, how could he know? But Sam was still inclined to believe it was the younger man's ignorance more than innocence which caused his apparent blindness. Heaving a heavy sigh the dark skinned agent guided the vehicle around a right-hander considerably faster than was strictly necessary, taking some pleasure in the look of discomfort which flashed across the younger man's face as he grabbed the passenger seat's armrest for support.

"Um, Sam?" said Cameron uncertainly, "Do you think maybe we could take the corners a bit more slowly?"

A slight snort escaped him but apart from that Sam gave no indication that he'd heard his new partner. If the boy had the nerve to ask...

"Look, I know what I said was stupid," Neely continued, the confidence in his voice growing ever so slightly when his words were met with no resistance, "But I can't win with you guys. And I get why, I mean your teammate died–"

"You ever seen somebody get shot, Neely?" Sam cut across him sharply.

"No."

"You ever seen somebody die?"

"No, but –"

"You ever had a teammate killed?"

"No, I haven't. But –"

"Then don't you dare tell me you 'get' what we're going through," Sam snapped, his eyes fixed on the road as they had been all throughout the conversation, "You don't, you never will, and until you accept that..." He let the sentence trail off, the threat of continued alienation evident in his voice.

Cameron nodded once, wisely choosing to back down and turning to stare of the passenger window instead of replying. At least for a moment. "What do you think the FBI are looking for?" he asked abruptly, shifting his gaze back towards his growling partner.

Sam felt his fingers tighten on the steering wheel once more. "I don't know what they're looking for but they won't find anything," he said coldly, taking yet another corner with a bit more speed than was necessary.

"But if they were going to find something?" Neely prodded once the Challenger had straightened itself, apparently forgetting that he was already on thin ice with the bigger man, "I mean, when I was training with the CIA, Agent Callen was like a myth, the undercover specialist whose loyalties were never really known..."

Sam actually laughed at the young man's gush, but it was a cold humourless laugh which shut Cameron up instantly. "Bullshit," he said simply, "G was loyal to whichever agency he was with. Always."

"Yeah, but if he wasn't..."

Sam just glared. "This conversation is over, Neely,"

"But –"

"Either shut up or get out," Sam growled dangerously, "Now."

The younger man raised his eyebrows and turned back towards the window. "Shutting up," he muttered.

* * *

_**?**_

Glass stretched before him, shaped and smoothed into a rounded conference table on whose surface the morning sun danced playfully. Massive windows made up the two walls behind him allowing the maximum amount of light to bathe the crisp white paint of those opposite them in its natural glow and eliminating the need for artificial light. Despite the length of the table at which he sat only two chairs were present, each one as white as the painted walls and stylish in their simplicity with only one awaiting an occupant. Leaning back in his own chair he allowed a smile to overtake his features as the room's only door swung open on the wall facing him. His guest had arrived.

Two armed guards accompanied the man, leading him forcefully by the upper arms as he stumbled between them blinded by the dark hood tied over his head. His clothes and skin showed obvious signs of neglect, dirt and grime streaking his jeans and his shirt decorated by a single, round hole on the upper left. A long-dried stain painted the remained of the fabric like some kind of abstract portrait.

"Remove the hood please, gentlemen," he instructed calmly, folding his hands on the cool glass before him.

Without a word the guards slipped the fabric from the man's head, holding him still more tightly as he blinked in the suddenly blinding light. Unkempt dirty blonde hair fell into his eyes and over his ears showing the same obvious signs of neglect as the rest of his attire. Those eyes, though bloodshot brimming with unshed tears from the sun's burning rays, still managed to flash defiantly as he finally raised his head and began taking in his surroundings like a good agent should.

His smile grew still wider as he watched the filthy man before him and he opened his arms wide. "G Callen," he said warmly, "How good of you to join us."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three  
**

_**Callen**_

For as long as he could remember, Callen had been moving. Bouncing between foster homes and orphanages, changing schools almost as often and otherwise being kicked around had taught him never to plant his feet anywhere in a hurry. The habit grew over time from simply moving around to moving in general. He stopped sitting still, a restless energy brewing within him at all times and keeping him alert and on edge as his view of the world became steadily more suspicious. He wandered, moved through his environment constantly and refused to allow himself to be caged. Until now.

Now, sealed in a cement box whose walls were cracked and unfinished having never seen paint of any kind, he was still. It was hard not to be, the ceiling pressed down barely four feet from the damp floor on which he lay and prevented him from standing or even trying to. Ruts and dips filled with condensation dug at his flesh as he shifted on the surface, a constant reminder of the oppressing environment in which he found himself. There were times when he struggled to remember exactly what it felt like to stretch to his full height and times when he caught himself wondering if he would ever be allowed to remember.

It was eternally dark in his cramped corner, a single utility light next to the reinforced door casting an eerie orange glow over the battered concrete and illuminating the odd smears of blood which dotted the walls. Some time ago his fingers had burned at the sight of that blood, a painful reminder of the tips which had been torn away while he searched every crack and crevasse for some chance of escape. But there was none. It was then that the waiting started as he bided his time and prepared for the chance he knew would one day come. They wouldn't have kept him alive if he wasn't needed. And so he did what he could in the tiny space, squats, wall-sits, and when the pain in his chest subsided to a dull throbbing, crunches and push-ups. Day in and day out he continued, doing anything to keep moving in a valiant effort to fight the growing weakness overtaking his muscles as they faded away in the damp, dark box.

It was a losing battle he was fighting, and he knew it. What had started as a tingling in his legs had grown into a sort of ache as the muscles deteriorated from lack of use and try as he might he couldn't get the feeling to subside. He was a lesson in filth, wearing the same clothes as the day his chest had been pierced by the sniper's round and covered in months' worth of grime. His hair was longer than he'd had it since his days in the DEA, as filthy as the rest of him and hanging in a dishevelled mess into his eyes. And his hair was not the only thing which had grown, he knew he must have a decent length beard by this point but with no way of seeing himself and his fingers scabbed and rubbed raw he could only really speculate.

How long they'd kept him at their mercy he had no real way of knowing, his best guess was based not only on the changes in his appearance but also the bloody lines he scratched into the wall to mark the number of times food was delivered to him. If he assumed one meagre meal a day his calculations worked out to just over two months. What he had absolutely no way of knowing was how long he'd been a guest in his host's idea of medical care, a room similar in size to the one in which he found himself now only with a ceiling at a normal height surrounded by tight-lipped men and women who poked and prodded and sewed until he was moved to his current location. Their treatment had been cold, distant and he was sure, not up to modern medical standards but still the new hole in his chest had healed and though it now caused a nagging stiffness he could not shake at least his breath had returned.

He was motionless, stretched out on the damp floor going and over the details of a former alias in his mind to pass the time when the clattering of the door's lock overtook the tiny room. Each time the noise hit he winced, the sound tarring at ears which had long grown accustom to silence or the murmur of his own voice as he practiced each and every language he knew. A screeching followed the initial racket as the door was pulled open slowly allowing light to filter into his world of darkness but he made no effort to move. He'd never made any effort, not once in the whole of his stay, and changing that now would only tell them he knew that something was amiss. They shouldn't be here yet, his internal clock (confused as it may be about the days but accurate when it came to the delivery of his food and keeping his sleep regular) warned that his meal was not due for some time and he tensed instinctively as someone stooped in the doorway.

"Turn around," the figure instructed emotionlessly, his voice gruff and clearly that of a man, "Put your feet towards the door and crawl out on your stomach."

For a moment Callen considered ignoring the request but quickly dismissed the idea as a bad one. These people, whoever they were, seemed to want him alive but his physical condition did not appear to hold the same value to them. Moving slowly and without saying a word or making a sound of any kind he eased himself on to his stomach and turned so his feet faced the open door before shimming out. He was barely half way out when two pairs of hands grabbed him roughly and pulled him the rest of the way, pinning him to the ground and forcing a bag over his head as soon as he was free of the box. But despite their rough treatment behind the dark cloth Callen was smirking. A hood only ever meant one thing: a meeting with whoever was calling the shots.

His suspicion was confirmed as his counting of corners created a picture of a circle in his mind's eye. Adapting quickly to his captors' attempt to confuse him, he focused instead on other details, sounds, smells, changes in elevation; anything that could give him some indication as to where they were. They were climbing, he could tell that much, a gentle slope beneath his feet making the atrophic muscles in his legs burn with exertion as he stumbled between the guards. His balance was gone, inhibited by the hood more than anything else but also by the simple fact that he was upright for the first time in recent memory. They were surrounded by silence, the only noise coming in the form of their own footsteps reverberating around them just enough to inform Callen that they were travelling down a hallway of some kind. Apart from that he could pick out nothing, no smells, no other sounds… He frowned slightly.

A sudden stop caught him completely off guard, and if the men on either side of him had not sized him by the upper arms he likely would have fallen over his feet at the abrupt lack of movement. Straining his ears once more he could make out a soft hum growing louder until it was replaced by the sound of automatic doors opening. Without a word he was forced forward, the feel of concrete underfoot changing to that of metal as he stumbled across a threshold of some kind. Elevator, he guessed. Sure enough the doors slid closed again and the floor vibrated slightly as they travelled upwards with Callen attempting to count the probable number of floors (six, he decided) until they stopped. The moment they stepped out onto the new floor the seasoned agent knew something was different. The air was different. It was lighter here, cleaner and fresher somehow. The odd tang he'd been breathing in for so long was gone and he allowed himself a slight smile. He'd been underground.

They must have taken a very direct route to their destination from that point on because in only a few moments (one right turn, thirty-seven paces and a left turn) they stopped again. Just as they had been last time his arms were sized from both sides to prevent him from stumbling too badly and the sound of a door opening met his ears. A swinging door this time, probably metal by the sounds of it but not rusted and in good condition. It was once he'd entered this latest room that he heard the voice:

"Remove the hood please, gentlemen."

He was American, no regional accent to speak of and his voice held the confidence of a man who knew precisely what they were doing. He was a professional. Callen's thoughts were cut off by the removal of the hood and the suddenly blinding light which assaulted his eyes despite the fact that he'd had the forethought to close them. Refusing to give his captors more of an advantage than they already held over him, he pealed his eyelids open once more and blinked furiously as his pupils contracted to the first time in months.

A quick scan of the room revealed it to be a combination of glass and white paint. Clean, crisp and new in every way, it had clearly been designed with this sort of meeting in mind. A single table fashioned from glass took up most of the room, its rounded edges reducing the amount of damage they could inflict on a person and the presence of only a single unoccupied chair limiting his ability to use it as a weapon. Callen kept his face as impassive as was possible with his eyes still burning and continued his evaluation, gazing out the massive windows for some kind of landmark but there was none. The view looked instead over a calm sea that, while clearly tropical, really didn't narrow the potential location down.

"G Callen," said the owner of the voice after a moment, drawing Callen's eyes to him for the first time, "How good of you to join us."

He was older, probably in his mid to late sixties and very well groomed with silver hair combed into place and a smile playing on his lips. He was dressed in all black, a tailored suit and tie over a simple white shirt only adding to his air of professionalism. The man could play the game well, Callen noted, but he could play it too. The clothes were deliberate, the dark tones picked for their contrast with the room's light ones. They made the wearer into the center of attention, drew all looks his way and added to the power he held for the simple reason that he was the first human contact the agent had been exposed to for some time. It was an old trick, and an effective one.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," G replied at last, tuning his voice to match the disinterested look he had schooled onto his face, grateful for the fact that the language practice he'd done had kept his voice relatively strong, "I always walk more slowly when I'm blindfolded. Call it old habits."

"Good habits, to be sure," the man acknowledged with a nod before gesturing towards the empty chair, "Please, sit."

Moving slowly, if only because this was the first time he'd taken any steps on his own, he made his way to the indicated seat and lowered himself into it. They were at opposite ends of the table, he with his back to the painted wall and his host almost glowing in light pouring in from behind him. There was silence. Minutes ticked by and still the silence stretched on. Neither man moved, neither would be the one to let something slip or give the other the upper hand and neither would give in. Callen kept his face blank, looking over the older man's shoulder and watching the water dancing beneath them with a detached sort of fascination as he waited.

"You are wondering, no doubt, why you are here," said the man finally.

Callen shifted his gazed slowly back to the smiling face, keeping his own expression neutral. "I assume you'll tell me eventually," he reasoned idly.

The man's smile grew. "A logical assumption," he agreed, "And I will, in time. First, however, I wonder how you are feeling?"

The question, while not completely unexpected seeing as he was clearly wanted for something, still came sooner than Callen had anticipated but he kept his thoughts off his face with a practiced ease. "I suppose you'll have to tell me," he said calmly, "I never did get an update on my condition."

"Ah, yes," the man chuckled, "The bullet wound. I do apologise for that but it seemed to me that an aggressive negotiation style was going to be necessary with you. My doctors have assured me that you will recover nicely."

"In that case it would appear that I'm fine," Callen rationalized easily, choosing not to address the reason for his shooting as he could see his host wanted.

The man's smile did not falter even with the agent's antis. "Excellent," he said, folding his hands on the glass surface before him, "You see, G, I have a few small errands that I need someone to run and I thought, who better to run them for me than you?"

Callen raised one eyebrow slightly, the movement just enough to keep him seeming alert despite his indifference. "Should I be taking that as a compliment?" he asked lightly.

"If you'd like," his host shrugged, reaching into his suit jacket and removing a yellow envelope which he place on the table before him, "Now, your first task –"

"Hold on," Callen cut in sharply, knowing full well that he was playing into his captor's hands but hoping for a glimpse of the other man's cards in the process. The best way to see a trap is to walk into it, after all, "I don't believe that, at any point during this conversation, I agreed to work for you."

The man's smile grew at those words and he sighed in a content sort of way. "As I predicted," he said airily, "Aggressive negotiations." With a wave of his hand the windows behind him went dark, plunging the room into shadows and Callen made a mental note to look for the camera as soon as the light returned. Another wave and the screen lit up, three images taking shape on its once transparent surface and casting an artificial glow over the room. "As you can see," he continued calmly, "It may be in your best interest to cooperate."

* * *

_**Natasha**_

Natasha had enjoyed her time as a field agent, she really had, to the point where she often found herself longing to take a bigger role in her team's cases. Now was one of those times, faced with the smiling photo of such a vulnerable victim she felt the overwhelming urge to do something take hold. This wasn't an adult who'd got in too deep or even someone who knew something they shouldn't; this was a child, an innocent baby who had done nothing wrong. Even so she knew all too well that her new team would bock at the idea of her helping them so she remained silent, keeping her desires to herself even as they filed from the room.

She had never worked with a group of people quite like this one before, one where the original members worked so hard to keep their new teammates at arm's length and did not give in to the new arrangements after a few weeks. That wasn't to say that she had never replaced another agent before, or that she had never been placed on a team reeling from the loss of one of their own, but this one was just different somehow. They were so close, she's heard other teams call themselves family but this one... This one really was. Heaving a sigh she returned her attention to the matter at hand, the little bundle of pink on the screen.

"Have we released Eva's picture to the media?" she asked.

The two techs sitting before her ceased the quiet argument they'd been having under their breath since the rest of the team left and glanced at each other.

"Yup," the computer expert, Eric, replied at last, "It went out as soon as we got the call."

"I highly doubt whoever did this will be taking her somewhere public," Nell added, the almost cocky smile to which Natasha had yet to grow accustom in place once more, "They've gone to all the trouble of grabbing her, why would they risk being seen?"

The Operations Manager nodded. "I tend to agree," she said softly, "But it's worth a try." She took a step towards the screen just as her cell phone range. "Sedgwick," she answered.

"Ms. Sedgwick," came a man's voice from the other end of the line, "This is agent Ferris of the FIB, I need a word with you and your team on the topic of the late agent Callen."

"Of course," Natasha sighed, the mild annoyance which had flared inside her at the interruption making way for clod dread as agent Ferris detailed the impending scenario, one which she was certain would drive her new team even further away from her than they already were.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four  
**

_**Callen**_

The sharp smell of ammonia assaulted his nose, burning down the back of his throat with each breath as though the air itself was on fire. This, he mused dully as tugged a comb through his still-damp hair, was exactly the reason he'd always avoided dying his hair. He had wondered briefly, upon opening the vile smelling product, if his captors had worsened the sent on purpose just to keep him in some form of discomfort but the truth was all but irrelevant for it changed nothing. With a heavy sigh he tore through the last patch of tangled knots and tossed the metal instrument aside at last.

It amazed him just how matted two inches of hair could get, not that the length required for consistent knotting was really something of importance at the moment. Still, despite the multitude of other things about which he could be thinking it was his personal appearance which was taking up most of his attention, if only because he had not seen it in three months. Leaning heavily on the spotless white skin before him Callen allowed his eyes to wander over his once recognizable face, taking in its every difference. Granted some of those changes had been done on purpose but others were the result of his living conditions since the bullet had pierced his chest all those months ago.

His skin, while it had never been tanned, had lost what colour life under the California sun had given it and turned instead an unhealthy white which was currently tainted pink due to the excessive scrubbing which had been required to peal the layers of dirt away from it. His cheeks had hollowed out, his eyes grown bloodshot and his teeth slightly yellower than before. And then there were the more recent changes. He was dark haired for the first time in his life, the smell which still beat at his nose coming from the scruffy mess of dark brown falling haphazardly into his eyes. He'd grown a beard as well over the course of his confinement and when told to alter his appearance chose to keep it, trimming it down and dying it to match his new hair. He'd even gone so far as to darken his eyebrows, knowing it was the little things which gave a person away, and the difference there was startling. Not only did the dark colouring now seem completely natural but even the blue of his eyes seemed to deepen their shade.

As he considered his reflection in the mirror he could not help the tiny smile which worked its way on to his face at the thought of what Sam, or god forbid Kensi or Hetty, would say about the new look. Probably something about a homeless man trying to clean up for a job interview, which, he mused, was a rather accurate assessment of the situation. His interview, however, was a test. It was not difficult, nor was it anything he was not comfortable doing as its sole purpose was confirmation but it was a test all the same. Was he going to be a good little pawn and do what he was told or would their threats be necessary?

_The images projected before him seemed to glow even brighter at his host's words. Aggressive negotiations... Callen's core temperature must have dropped at least a couple of degrees for he recognized the space being recorded by each camera: the dark leather interior of Sam's Challenger, the artificial light of the Ops center, the sunlit bull pen, the front seats of Kensi's Cadillac... _

_Suppressing the emotions which threatened to show themselves on his face Callen had forced a smirk. "If that's your idea of aggressive..." he began easily._

_His host mirrored the facial expression nastily. "It's not," he assured, "Aggressive comes when I order for something rather unfortunate to happen to your former partner." _

_The Challenger was the only scene in which there was any action as Sam was piloting it down a two-lane street his friend recognized as one of his routes back to the Boathouse with a man he'd never seen before sitting in the passenger seat. At old man's words, however, a passing car cut a corner far closer than was necessary and the camera swerved slightly as Sam was forced to avoid it. _

"_How easy would it be," the grey haired man continued calmly, "For my next car to simply bump him, perhaps they miss the turn because the driver falls asleep at the wheel? _

_Callen set his jaw, acknowledging the point without saying a word. "What's the job?" he asked coldly._

The job, as it turned out, was relatively simple. He was to case a house, study the patterns of its residents, get the layout and all other standard information one gathered from surveillance without being seen. Everything about the task was purpose built, that much he was sure as he doubted very much they would have gone to all the trouble to shoot and kidnap him for such a basic operation. Still, he found himself grateful for the slow start as it would give his deteriorated body a chance to heal.

Pushing away from the sink he gathered up the clothes he'd been instructed to wear and changed in silence, his eyes avoiding the slight protrusions of his ribcage with expert precision. There was no point dwelling on his current state, besides he'd already done a full body examination while in the shower. The jeans he'd been provided with were about a size to big, as was the dark, unmarked long-sleeved shirt, no doubt to hide the condition of his body, but he slipped them on regardless. Risking another glance in the mirror he shook his head with a sigh, his homeless-man-going-for-a-job-interview look was only added to by the outfit and he was sure it would dictate the covers he would be able to play. Things were just getting better and better... 

* * *

_**Sam**_

Natasha had called him on his way back to OSP headquarters, her voice tense as she detailed the change in plans. At first he'd neglected to tell his new partner what was going on but Neely, despite being oblivious to his new teammates' warning signs, was still fairly sharp and picked up on the change in their route almost immediately. After a brief argument in which the younger man set the record for using the 'we're a team' excuse the most times in one conversation, Sam finally updated him on the situation. That update, of course, had just led to more arguments.

Now, sitting across from one another at the Boathouse's table, the two men were silent. Natasha stood to one side, leaning against the counter while she waited for her coffee to brew with a tired expression creasing her face. Sam had to give her credit, she at least understood that nothing good would come out of this meeting.

"Aren't Kensi, Deeks and Nate coming too?" Cameron asked suddenly, glancing around as though he'd just realized three of his teammates were missing.

"Agent Ferris and his team will just have to understand that we are working to save a missing baby's life," Natasha replied calmly, though Sam saw her eyes glint slightly with some concealed emotion.

"They're probably not gonna like that..." the junior agent frowned.

"Are you NCIS or FBI, Neely?" Sam snapped, choosing to end the conversation then and there, "If they have a problem with us doing our jobs then they can call the others and talk to them on the phone one by one. End of discussion."

Before Cameron could respond the Boathouse door swung open and two men stepped inside, screaming Fed in every way possible: suits, ties, cheap shoes which were polished up as nicely as could be, one of the men (the younger of the two) was even wearing sunglasses. Sam nearly laughed. It was no wonder people gave him sceptical looks when he told them he was a Federal Agent.

"Agent Ferris?" Natasha questioned politely, glancing between the two suit-clad men.

"That would be me," the older of the two replied, pulling his credentials and holding them out for inspection as his partner did the same, "And this is Agent Williams."

The Operations Manager nodded in greeting. "My name is Natasha Sedgwick, and these are agents Sam Hanna and Cameron Michael Neely."

There were handshakes all around and Agent Williams removed his sunglasses before everyone seated themselves around the table once more.

"So, tell me a bit about Agent Callen," said Agent Ferris with a smile, successfully beating the three NCIS staff members to the opening word.

Sam had to fight the urge to sigh; with that opening there was no chance that this was going to be a friendly conversation. Beside him Cameron was looking confused by the abruptness of it all and seemed to be on the verge of voicing that sentiment so Sam stepped in quickly. "There's not much to tell," he replied, looking between both visitors firmly, "Callen was a great agent and he was a good man."

Agent Williams tilted his head. "Not a great man, though."

Sam glared but refused to take the bait. Getting defensive this early would only give them what they wanted. "He was a great agent and a great man," he corrected lightly, forcing a smile he did not feel.

Both visitors nodded, looking more like a pair of smiling bobble-heads than federal agents, before exchanging a quick glance.

"It is my understanding," said Agent Ferris slowly, pulling a government file from the depths of his suit jacket and flipping it open on the table, "That Agent Neely and yourself, Ms. Sedgwick, arrived at NCIS after the death of Agent Callen. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Natasha replied calmly, "Agent Neely was hired some two weeks before my arrival as a replacement for the late Agent Callen whereas I was brought in to replace the former Operations Manager, Miss Henrietta Lange."

"And you have spent how long with NCIS?" Agent Williams asked.

"My whole career," the grey haired woman replied, "Almost thirty years."

Agent Williams jotted a quick note down before smiling up at his hosts. "What about you, Agent Neely? What's your background?"

Cameron, who had been unusually quiet since the interview started, looked around at his teammates before speaking. "Don't you guys have all this information?" he asked, his reaction catching Sam off guard, "I mean, you have our files, it's all in there. Why are you asking us?"

Both FBI agents shifted in their seats, hiding their surprise in much the same way as their NCIS counterparts as they rested their arms on the table.

"Are you refusing to answer our question, Agent Neely?" the older of the two asked coldly.

"No," Cameron replied, "I'm just confused about why you need the answer. Are you refusing to answer my question?"

Sam, who had been staring at his young partner in silence, closed his eyes at the final comment. So much for any pretence of friendliness, things were about to get a lot colder.

"Agent Neely..." Natasha warned softly.

"No, no, it's quite alright Ms Sedgwick," Agent Ferris smiled glancing at her before returning his attention to the youngest man in the room, "To answer your question, we were looking to establish some level on honesty before continuing with our questions however it would seem that you do not find small talk necessary so..." He flipped the page of the file before him and consulted it for a moment before speaking. "A month ago, Agent Neely, you purchased a new car, a 2011 Mustang I believe. Yet, you are a Junior Agent on your first real team, this seems a bit odd to me..."

Cameron blanched slightly and glanced around at his team for assistance but nothing came. "I saved up for that car," he said quickly, "It was my money, there's nothing wrong with it, or me. Aren't we here to talk about Agent Callen anyway?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. Of course Neely would try and save himself by throwing Callen under the bus, the kid had no respect... He couldn't even bring himself to care about the boy's mystery car.

Both FBI agents were smirking at Cameron's discomfort.

"Yes, I suppose we are," said Agent Williams after a few moments, "Agent Hanna, you were partners with Agent Callen, correct?"

Sam nodded once. "Yes," he said shortly.

"What kind of partner was he?" the younger FBI agent asked.

"The best I ever had," Sam replied, "He was a brilliant operator, I came to NCIS green when it came to undercover work and he taught me everything I know."

"No one doubts Agent Callen's skill," said Agent Ferris with a grimace, "In fact his skill is likely the reason we were never able to pin any of this on him while he was alive."

"Pin any of what on him?" Sam demanded, though he was already dreading the answer.

Their guests exchanged a look before the older of the two sighed. "We have evidence that your former partner was responsible for the theft of considerable sums of money, not only from our own agency but also the CIA and DEA," he explained, "We are looking into any such activities while he was employed by NCIS as well."

Sam couldn't help it; he laughed. "That's ridiculous. G never gave a damn about the money."

"He was an experienced lair, Agent Hanna," Agent Williams noted coldly, "And you said it yourself, you were new to undercover work when you met him. No one is blaming you if you failed to notice, it took the other agencies this long just to realize money was missing."

"Up until a year ago Callen was homeless!" Sam argued, shaking his head in disbelief, "And when Hetty finally bought a place for him he slept on the floor and furnished it with one chair!"

"He slept on the floor?" Cameron seemed to have forgotten his plan to stay silent but his comment was ignored by the room's other occupants.

"There is no arguing the fact that Callen is responsible for the theft," Agent Ferris said firmly, "That much has already been proven –"

Sam narrowed his eyes and curled one hand into a fist at his side. "He didn't steal anything –"

"Enough." Natasha's voice cut through the air like a knife and the room fell silent as all eyes made their way to the Operations Manager. "If you have your evidence then I see no reason for your visit and we have a case so if you could be on your way..."

Agent Ferris smiled politely. "Of course, Ms Sedgwick," he replied, shifting his gaze back to Sam and Cameron as he spoke, "We did have a reason for coming here, you know. The money has yet to be recovered, we'd hoped that your agents could shed some light on the subject of where Agent Callen may have hidden it, but no matter, we'll find it on our own." He stood and followed his partner to the door before turning back to them, all traces of the smile gone from his face. "I would also like to put forward a standing offer to anyone who may have been involved in Callen's little scheme: come forward yourself or we will destroy everything in your life. Good day everyone."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five  
**

_**Kensi**_

"She's beautiful, Lieutenant," said Kensi softly as she gazed down at the digital camera in Mrs. Rowland's hands, "She's going to look just like you."

Flicking to the next photo the mother gave a miserable laugh. "Will she, Agent Blye?"

"Yes, she will. We will get her back, and this will all just be a bad memory."

Mrs. Rowland gave the young agent a watery smile and seemed about to respond when the doorbell rang. In a heartbeat Deeks appeared from down the hall where he had been taking another look around the house, and Nate fell into step just in front of him, ready to shoo away a non-hostile visitor. Jackson Rowland also jumped up from beside his wife, hurrying after the two men to identify anyone who may be familiar to the family. Just as they had planned. Kensi rested one hand comfortingly on Mrs. Rowland's knee as they waited for the signal one way or another.

The all clear sounded moments later.

"Sarah..." Mr. Rowland was the first to re-enter the living room, the apologetic look on his face catching the attention of both women seated on the couch, "She's here..."

Kensi's hand shot instinctively to the gun at her back as studied the situation developing before her. Two people followed Mr. Rowland into the room, Nate trailing a few paces behind a woman with whom she was not familiar who marched towards them as though she owned the place. In the shadows of the doorway she also picked up on the form of her partner, still with his gun in hand, providing backup.

"Now will you believe me, Sarah?" the stranger barked, folding her arms across her chest, "And get your hand of your gun, girly," she added gesturing casually towards Kensi, "You couldn't shoot someone if they were standing in front of you waiting with a target on the chest."

Kensi raised her eyebrows slightly but her hand did not move, even as she fought down the biting remark on the tip of her tongue.

"Mother," if Mrs. Rowland had sounded miserable before it was nothing compare to the pure despair in her voice now, "Please, you being here is not going to help. I'll call you when these agents find something, okay?"

The older woman scoffed loudly. "What they'll find is a whole lot of nothing," she said simply, "Now, if you'd just listened to me you wouldn't have to start your family all over again. This is what happens when you insist on doing a man's job, Sarah, and you don't just leave the working to your husband."

"Mother!"

"Genevieve, for once in your life, keep your opinions to yourself!"

As Mr. and Mrs. Rowland both exploded in fury, Kensi looked towards Nate who needed no further convincing to intervene. Stepping forward he put himself into the line of verbal fire, "Genevieve?"

"It's Mrs. McArthur to you."

"Mrs. McArthur," the Operational Psychologist corrected himself hastily, "Perhaps you have some information that could help us? Why don't we step into the kitchen for a moment?"

The haughty grandmother seemed as though she would have liked to argue but Nate was already herding her out of the room. She left the distraught parents with one final shout of wisdom, "I did tell you something like this would happen!" before she disappeared from earshot.

There was a moment of silence in the living room before Kensi heaved a sigh. "I don't want you to listen to a word of that," she said, surprising herself with the calmness in her voice, "We will get your daughter back."

Sarah Rowland nodded shakily. "My mother is old-fashioned," she said softly, "She doesn't approve of my choice of career..."

"I picked up on that," Kensi replied, drawing on her undercover skills to inject her voice with good humour, "She didn't seem overly pleased with me either."

Her efforts were rewarded as Mrs. Rowland managed a weak smile. "Yeah, sorry about that..."

"Kensi?" Deeks chose that moment to finally announce his presence, leaning in through the doorway and gesturing for his partner to join him. He'd trucked his weapon away again and did a very good job of acting as though he hadn't just witnessed the family's drama. "You got a minute?"

Kensi nodded. "Excuse me," she said kindly to the parents before standing and making her way down the hall after Deeks' retreating back, sending a quick message to Eric as she went instructing him to run background on the grandmother.

Neither agent nor detective spoke until they were in the safety of the Rowland's bedroom and then it was, predictably, Deeks who started the conversation. "Okay, so what was that about?" he asked, obviously referring to the unexpected arrival of Genevieve McArthur.

"No idea," Kensi replied, taking the opportunity to glance around the room again, "But she's damn lucky she didn't get shot barging in her like that."

Deeks was looking uncharacteristically thoughtful and Kensi had half a mind to call him on it when he cut her off. "Jackson Rowland said he called her when they discovered Eva was missing." He paused. "Why would they call her? She's not going to help the situation any, that's for sure."

Kensi merely shrugged. "You never know, Nate might get something useful out of her. I have Eric running her name as well, we could get lucky there, it seems like she's the type of person who has enemies."

"Maybe a few..." the blond haired man replied sarcastically before changing the subject, "Have you heard any more from Sam?"

Shaking her head and running a hand through her hair, Kensi sighed. "No, not since he called to fill us in on the FBI's visit." She could feel anger beginning to well up inside her again at the very thought of the FBI's investigation and took a couple of deep breaths attempting to calm herself down. "I still cannot believe they have the nerve – "

"I know, Kenz, but there's nothing we can do. We know Callen wasn't stealing money, we just have to wait for them to figure that out too, so, in the meantime, check this out. I just broke this case wide open!" He led the way over to the wall against which Eva's crib sat and gestured towards a selection of framed photos of the baby hanging above it. "She's got a stuffed duck," he said, pointing, "It's with her in the crib in almost every picture."

Kensi raised one eyebrow, mildly impressed by her partner's sudden eye for details and thankful for the distraction from their previous topic of conversation. "So where is it now?" she finished.

Deeks grinned. "Exactly." 

* * *

_**Sam**_

Sam's first destination, upon returning to the Mission, was the Ops center. Eric and Nell were busy at their computers when he entered, neither of them even bothering to look up as the door slid open, their fingers still flying across the keys.

"Kensi has us running background on Genevieve McArthur," Eric explained, still without so much as glancing away from the screen before him, "She's Sarah Rowland's mother."

"Apparently she showed up at the house and started causing problems," Nell picked up where Eric had left off seamlessly, "But we can't find any red flags in her background."

Sam nodded, though he knew neither tech would see him. "Well, keep digging," he told them, "It's the best lead we have."

"Your trip to the base yielded nothing, then?" Natasha asked as she stepped into the room behind him.

"No, as far as we can tell there's no motive there, neither of the Rowlands were even working on anything classified at the moment."

Natasha sighed heavily. "Alright. Well, keep at it, all of you." She turned and made to leave the room once more but paused in the doorway. "Agent Hanna, you haven't seen your partner since we got back from the Boathouse, have you?" she asked.

"Neely?" Sam replied, caught off guard by the question, "No, I haven't."

"I see..." she looked thoughtful for a moment then forced a smile, "Keep me in to loop if you find anything." She gestured at the screen then was gone.

Sam was silent a moment, considering his partner's disappearance, before he realized that both Eric and Nell had ceased their typing and swivelled their chairs to face him.

"So," the computer tech prompted, "What did the FBI want? We were gonna hack into the Boathouse security feed..."

"But we didn't think that Ms. Sedgwick would appreciate that," Nell finished for him, offering him a warning glare.

The surfer pouted slightly.

"They're accusing Callen of stealing from his former employers," Sam replied simply, "They say they have proof but they can't find the money." Eric and Nell exchanged a look and Sam felt his temper rise. "What?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" said Eric a bit too quickly, "It's just, I know Callen was an unbelievable agent and all but if there was one thing he was never great with it was computers. I mean, he was good with them, but to steal from a federal agency..."

"I think what Eric is trying to say," Nell cut in, clearly taking pity on the blond who was withering under Sam's glare, "Is that we just can't see Callen stealing something he couldn't physically steal."

Sam nodded. "I agree," he sighed, "But the FBI doesn't."

Eric, who appeared to have relaxed now that it was clear Sam had calmed down, shrugged slightly. "You know, if you wanted, we could always just, peek, at what they're up to... If you want..."

Glancing from one determined face to the next Sam gave one final nod. "Do it." 

* * *

_**Callen**_

Added to the list of things Callen knew about his captors was the fact that they were well funded. Very well funded. The quality of their facility was the first proof of this, as well the fact that they seemed to have an entire building to themselves and a team of at least mediocre quality doctors at their disposal. They had the kind of money that one usually associated with high level criminal activity, enough to give themselves every advantage they need. Or at the very least they had enough extra money lying around to arrange a private helicopter to transport him from point A to point B.

Unfortunately he still had very little idea of where point A or B was, the moment he'd signalled that he was finished cleaning up and getting dressed he'd been pulled from the bathroom by the guards and the hood replaced over his head. The sad truth was, while he could use his other senses to keep track of where he was going on land even with the bag in place, once he got in the air it was a completely different story. He was lost and he hated it. The only thing he could keep track of was time so, with the hood rendering him blind and the headset blocking out most of the noise, he sat and counted the seconds in his head.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**_

_Well, what to say after this outrageously long absence? I guess just the truth, no excuses or pleas for forgiveness or anything like that. The truth is I haven't written anything in, wow, I don't even know how long, not since the last time I updated something on here, I guess. I haven't even been watching anything on TV that isn't sports, all of my usual shows have kind of been forgotten. It's not that I've been busy, or injured, or any of my usual reasons I just found that every ounce of creative juice had dried up, all at once. So last week I decided it was time to do something about it, because honestly my life is missing something without writing and I want to get back into it, so I caught up on this season of NCIS LA, then I re-read this fic and edited the pervious chapters (don't worry, it's nothing major, you don't have to go back and read it again though it has been so long since I updated that you might have to anyway o.0 ) Then, somehow, I spat this out. It was done in an hour, which is incredibly fast for me, I have no beta and it's been so long since I've written anything that I doubt my skills are where they used to be but you know what, I don't care. I've written something and you have no idea how happy that makes me. _

_I'm going to try to get back to writing on a regular basis and hopefully get all of my current stories going again but it will, in all likelihood, be a long process so please bare with me.  
_

**_Happy Reading!_**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_**Nate  
**_

Nate had always considered himself a very patient man, it was part of what made him so good at his job, but Genevieve McArthur was giving that patience a run for its money. Narcissistic personalities were rarely fun to deal with and a narcissist with no concern whatsoever for the wellbeing of her kidnapped granddaughter was just about all the psychologist could handle. No matter how many different ways he attempted to steer their conversation towards potential suspects all he managed to get out of the older woman were her assurances that the whole situation was her daughter's fault for not fulfilling her role as wife and mother. Frustrated, he finally resorted to sending her out into the dining room with some paper, a pen and instructions to write out a list of possible abductors in order to get a break.

"She's a piece of work, that one."

He turned towards the kitchen door where Kensi stood leaning against the doorframe with Deeks next to her. It was the former who had spoken and as she continued to glare after the elderly woman Nate nodded. "No arguments here," he muttered, then, remembering where Genevieve was, he glanced quickly in the dining room's direction to be sure she was out of earshot.

"She out there?" Deeks asked, following the psychologist's gaze.

"Writing out a list of possible suspects," Nate nodded, "But I rather doubt it'll be helpful."

Kensi sighed. "Well, we may have something. Then again, it could be nothing so…"

"Nothing?" Deeks questioned, putting on his best hurt expression which stopped, thankfully Nate noted, just short of an actual pout, "It's a case breaker, Kenz, I keep tellin' ya!"

The agent rolled her eyes but otherwise gave no indication that she'd heard her partner. "Eva had a stuffed duck toy," she explained, "It's with her in almost every picture but we can't find it."

"So you're thinking that the same person who took Eva took her toy with her?" Nate asked, his eyes traveling from one co-worker to the next.

"Yep!" said Deeks brightly, "See, case breaker. Obviously whoever took Eva knew her well enough to know what her favourite toy is."

"Or the duck was right next to the crib and the perp just grabbed it out of convenience," Kensi cut in, "Maybe it quieted her down?"

"Why would it be convenient to grab a duck?"

"I just answered that, Deeks, maybe it quieted her down."

"It's a duck!"

But Nate had heard enough. Tension was running high enough within the team already and he had no intention of letting this situation escalate. Deeks and Kensi dealt with stress in two completely different ways, one deflected it with humour while the other became over-focused on the things she could control and sometimes those two methods clashed with each other. Besides, something had just occurred to him. "It does seem like an inside job," he reasoned, effectively putting an end to the argument which had still been raging before him, just as he'd intended, "Snatching a baby room her parents' bedroom while they were both present would certainly require detailed knowledge of the family's tenancies."

Kensi's eyes lit up. "You don't think…"

"She certainly had no faith in her daughter's ability to raise a child to her liking," the psychologist pointed out with a grim smile.

Detective and agent exchanged a look and Deeks nodded. "I'll call Eric."

* * *

_**Eric  
**_

The hacking had only just begun when his phone rang and it was only after he'd answered with his customary greeting that Eric felt Sam's eyes boring into the back of his head. The computer tech shuddered slightly. Sometimes he wished his co-workers weren't so damn intimidating, it was one of the problems with working around highly trained government agents. It hadn't always been this bad though, before Callen died Sam had only been intimidating, now he was just scary…

"_Eric? Hey, Eric! Are you even listening to me?!" _

Oh, right, he was talking to Deeks, who might smile more but he was just as intimidating. "I'm listening! I'm defiantly listening," he said quickly, watching cautiously as Sam moved to stand next to his desk, "What were you saying again?"

There was a pause and Eric could almost hear Deeks rolling his eyes. _"I was asking you what you found on Genevieve McArthur."_

"Hold on," he said, swivelling in his chair to face his partner and pointing at the phone, "It's Deeks, he wants everything we've got on the grandmother," he said quietly before putting Deeks on speaker phone, "Okay Deeks, you're on speaker."

"Genevieve McArthur seems clean," Nell reported from beside him, pulling up all their searches as she spoke, "She had a husband, Charles McArthur, who died four years ago and Sarah is their only child. It looks like Genevieve was a stay-at-home mum."

"_Well that doesn't surprise me."_

"What do you mean, Deeks?" Sam asked sharply.

"_She's determined that this whole abduction is her daughter's fault. Says is serves her right for trying to live a man's life by working and stuff. And you should have seen the way she treated Kensi…"_

Nell frowned. "How can she treat her own daughter that way?"

"_No idea. Listen, are you guys sure there's nothing? Because we were kind of thinkin' that she might actually be responsible for taking Eva…"_

Eric raised his eyebrows. "There're no red flags in her history that we can find," he said slowly, "But, I mean, we can always check again."

"What about recently?" Sam suggested, "Any credit card activity or big bank withdrawals?"

"_Or plane tickets to Disneyland…"_

"Deeks…"

"_I'm just sayin'…"_

Ignoring the two other men, Eric mirrored his partner's actions and focused his attention on the screen before him. A moment and a few well chosen keystrokes later and he was smiling. "Gotcha," he grinned, drawing everyone's attention, "We don't have tickets to Disneyland but what we do have are diapers, lots of them, and baby formula, lots of that too. Looks like she bought it all a week ago."

"And I do have tickets," Nell added, jumping out of her seat and throwing the correct file on to the big screen, "She's booked on a flight out of LAX tomorrow, destination Oklahoma City."

There was a moment of silence while it hit everyone that little Eva Rowland had been taken by her own grandmother before Sam spoke. "Deeks, get Kensi and bring her in. Call me back when you've got her in custody."

"_Got it."_ The detective confirmed but before either he or Sam could end the connection the sound of muffled voices began pouring out of the phone. _"Ugh, guys? So we might have a problem…"_

Sam groaned. "What kind of problem, Deeks?"

"_Nate just went to check on Genevieve… She's gone."_

* * *

_**Leslie-Jean  
**_

Hooray for Hot Dogs, at least that's what the sign advertising the 50% off sale on the prepackaged meat had read and Leslie-Jean could see no reason to disagree. When preparing a meal for upwards of twenty hungry youth 'quick' and 'easy' were second only to 'plentiful' in terms of importance. She chuckled softly to herself at the thought before reaching into the trunk of her car and emerging a moment later, her arms laden down with as many bags of food as she could handle. Still, despite the load, she made it to the front steps without issue and deposited the bags into the arms of a group of surly looking teenagers.

"If you wanna eat the food, the least you can do is carry it to the kitchen," she called over her shoulder cheerfully, already on her way back to the car for another load of groceries.

"Ms. Leslie-Jean Falkner?"

The woman stopped dead, halfway between the steps and her car, and turned towards the source of the voice. Two men stood before her, dressed in suits and holding an unmistakable air of authority. That alone was enough to put Leslie on guard. "Who's askin'?" she demanded coldly, all traces of cheerfulness gone as she continued to study them suspiciously.

Neither man seemed at all put off by her manner, in fact from the smug look they both wore it was clear that they were enjoying themselves. They seemed to think about the question, exchanging glances as though it was difficult, before finally the younger of the two spoke."I'm Agent Williams, this is Agent Ferris, we're with the FBI," he said calmly, going so far as to smile at her, "We'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind."

"I do mind," Leslie was moving again before they could stop her, making her way swiftly to the rear of her car and reaching into the trunk for the remainder of the food, "Now, if you'll excuse me I have the shelter's dinner to prepare. Lots of mouths to feed." She punctuated the sentence by slamming the trunk closed.

Agent Williams was in front of her the moment she turned towards the building, blocking her way with a casual smile that did not match his body language in the slightest. "Dinner can wait, Ms. Falkner, out questions cannot."

Leslie stood her ground. She knew the other man, Agent Ferris, had come up behind her but she refused to acknowledge him by turning to look his way and focused instead on the man before her. "What exactly do these questions of yours concern?" she asked him.

"G Callen."

The response came from behind her and this time she did turn around, a surge of emotions she could not even begin to identify twisting her guts into knots. Images of young man, barely twenty one, with a bag and a bed roll slung over one shoulder as he hugged her goodbye danced before her eyes and it took her a moment to realize that the two agents were still waiting on her response. "What about him?"

Agent Ferris smiled. "Those many mouths will have to go hungry I'm afraid, Ms. Falkner."

A hand grasp her elbow from behind without warning and Leslie spun around as best she could with her arms still loaded down with bags to find Agent Williams mirroring his partner's smile.

"You're going to have to come with us."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:**_

_Well would you look at this, a quick update. Well, quick for me. Let's just say you probably shouldn't get used to this. Now, about this chapter, I don't really know what happened, I just started writing and this is what came out. I have this story roughly planned out and I knew there were a few things I needed to at least make mention of plot-wise but apart from that the characters just sort of took on a life of their own. Honestly I'm not sure if I'm pleased with it or not. I think I am, at least plot wise, it's just the fact that I'm still finding it incredibly difficult to get anything written down and everything I do get down feels awkward. If there's anyone out there with some tips for getting over this hump, please, let me know. And please let me know what you think of the chapter as well._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

_**Callen**_

The first thing Callen noticed, as he was forced roughly out of the helicopter, was the lack of pavement beneath his feet. The second was the buffeting of the wind from the chopper's rotors which were still spinning overhead and the two sets of hands dragging him away from it. They did not take him far, however, for barely a minute later the headset and bag were removed without warning and his senses returned with blinding force. The roar of the wind and the engine tore at his ears and his eyes burned from the afternoon sun but he forced himself to remain upright and stand his ground.

The two men before him had left their hearing protection in place and one dropped a backpack on the sun baked earth between them. "Everything you need is in this bag," he shouted over the deafening noise, "Spare clothes, a satellite phone, map of the area with your route highlighted, some water and petty cash."

The agent narrowed his eyes. "Where am I, exactly?"

"Puerto Villamil."

Callen blinked. "The Galapagos Islands?"

"Correct," said the man shortly, "The house you'll be monitoring is just over an hour's walk from here and you'll have to go through town to get there. Buy anything you think you need but keep in mind that the money you've been given is all you will get. We will expect a call every forty five minutes to update us on your position, activities and observations; the number is pre-programmed into the satellite phone. If you fail to call in on time for any reason, your friends die, if you dial any number other than ours from that phone, your friends die, if you try to contact anyone, by any means – "

"I get it," Callen cut in, his attempt at sounding disinterested falling well short of the desired result, "If I do anything that will compromise your little mission, you'll kill them."

The two men smirked nastily. "The house is unoccupied at the moment, the new owner is recently retired and will be arriving tonight." The same man who'd spoken before continued, "Do not get caught." And with that the two of them turned on their heels and made their way back to the chopper at a jog, bent double against the wind. A moment later the helicopter was back in the air.

Callen stared after his captors' until they were nothing but a dark spot in the bright blue sky before turning his attention to the backpack lying on the dirt. He picked it up and rifled through it quickly, finding everything he'd been told to expect and nothing more. With a sigh he lowered himself on to the ground, pulled out the map and satellite phone and laid them on his lap. Just as he'd been told the phone had only one number programmed into it and it was one the agent didn't recognize. He debated calling it for a moment, if only to see how they would react but decided against it. Out here, alone, he had no way of taking back any mistakes, and mistakes would get his friends killed. He sighed once more and turned his attention to the map, which showed the town of Puerto Villamil and its surrounding area and had two red X's, one marking his current position and the other, the house they wanted monitored.

He knew he should get moving, he needed a watch of some kind to keep track of time and make sure he called in when expected, he needed food, vitamins (if any of the shops here sold them,) sunscreen, toiletries and all of this before he could hope to begin surveillance. Still, there were a few things to be taken care of first. If his counting of the seconds was right, the helicopter ride here had been just over two hours, which put his captors' base of operations somewhere is South or Central America. This fit with the tropical sea he remembered seeing through the window. It wasn't really much to go on, but it was a start and he filed it away in his mind. Next, he took the time to memorize the phone number he'd been given, filing that away too, before repacking the backpack and heading off towards town.

* * *

_**Deeks**_

Kensi was angry. Normally, this could be attributed to something he'd done, but this time Deeks was pleading completely innocent. Actually, if he was being honest with himself the detective knew that since Callen's death and Hetty's subsequent resignation his partner's anger had been spread over a far greater number of people than before. And it had been more common. And more violent. Still, she didn't normally destroy her pencils on the side of her desk…

"Kenz?" he asked carefully.

The glare that was thrown his way would have sent braver men running for the hills and Deeks winced slightly. Forget angry, Kensi was furious.

He took a deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable. "You okay, partner?"

"Am I okay?" she repeated dangerously, "Am I okay? What do you think, Deeks? We're on desk duty, grounded, while the chances of finding Eva Rowland and returning her to her parents get lower and lower and the FBI destroys the reputation of one of the best agents this country's ever seen. How could I possibly be okay?"

Well, that could have gone better, but at least he'd got her talking. "Look, Natasha was out of line, we know that," the detective reasoned, "But there wasn't much else to find at the Rowland's home anyway. The parents didn't know anything and they'd already given us all these family documents and photo albums before, well, before…"

"Before we were benched? Grounded? Stuck on desk duty? C'mon, a baby is missing and she thinks now is the time to prove a point?"

Unable, and unwilling, to argue his partner's point, Deeks fell silent and returned his attention to the stack of photo albums before him. They were every album from Sarah Rowland's side of the family, (Kensi had all the albums from Jackson's side) dating back to when the parents themselves had been Eva's age. Disappointed, though Deeks didn't really think that was the right word for it, with the three of them after Genevieve McArthur's disappearance, Natasha had recalled them to headquarters and placed them on desk duty until further notice. Of course, this was done after she finished lecturing them on proper procedure and common sense and informing them that another team of agents had been sent out to the Rowland's residence in their place.

Kensi wasn't the only one who was angry about their new Operations Manager's actions. Deeks still maintained that they'd done nothing wrong. By the time they'd worked out that Genevieve might be a suspect she was already gone and before that they'd had no reason to treat her as anything but a potential witness, even if she wasn't overly likeable. Even Nate disagreed with the punishment and was currently in Natasha's office arguing their case.

"Alright, I can't sit here anymore. It's been two hours, we're wasting time. To hell with Natasha, let's go," said Kensi suddenly, standing up at her desk.

"Go where, Agent Blye?" said a cold voice from the bullpen's entrance. Natasha stood in the doorway, while Nate stood just behind her looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but there.

Kensi was slightly more than furious, Deeks decided, because she didn't back down at the sight of their boss and instead turned to face her with the same deadly glare she'd given him earlier. "Genevieve McArthur's place. Maybe Sam and Neely missed something."

"Agent Hanna and Agent Neely spent more than an hour going over Mrs. McArthur's residence, and I trust they did their job properly," the Operations Manager replied, meeting the agent's gaze and matching it, "We now know that young Eva was, in fact, being kept at her grandmother's but the evidence collected suggested she was moved just before your co-workers arrived. Perhaps if Genevieve McArthur had been detained at her daughter's home we would have the baby back with her parents by now."

The two women glared at each other for a full minute before Kensi spoke again. "We're useless here," she all but snarled.

"Your punishment is not debatable, as I have already explained to Mr. Getz," Natasha replied, her voice, by contrast, still relatively calm, "You three will remain here until I tell you otherwise. You will go through the documents and albums before you and should you find a likely place Mrs. McArthur may have taken her granddaughter to hide you will inform me immediately. Is that clear?"

At long last Kensi sat down, though her glare so by no means lessened. "Crystal," she spat, flipping the album before her open more roughly than was necessary and staring at it until the older woman disappeared to her office once more. The moment she was gone the agent raised her head. "Nate?"

"I'm sorry guys," the psychologist sighed, taking a seat at the desk next to Kensi, "I tried, but she wouldn't hear it."

Deeks frowned. He'd never really had a problem with Natasha before this. Sure, he hadn't been a fan of her initial lets-all-be-friends technique but she'd seemed like a competent Operations Manager and a fair human being. "Does this seem strange to anyone else?" he asked.

Nate nodded. "This punishment came completely out of the blue," he agreed, "It's not her usual style."

"Great, we can add that to the list," Kensi muttered, "What you need to make a terrible day…"

Sensing the opportunity to inject the situation with some overdue humour Deeks grinned, "No clean towels anywhere in your house after your morning shower."

Kensi groaned, but the detective caught the tiniest of smiles on her face, "Shut up, Deeks."

* * *

_**Sam**_

The minute he and Neely had returned from their less than successful trip to Genevieve McArthur's house, Sam had made a beeline for the Ops center hoping to, at least, get some good news there. Eric, however, disappointed him. He reported that Natasha had been popping in and out with such frequency that neither he nor Nell had been able to hack into the FBI's database. The last thing they wanted was for their boss to walk in on them breaking several laws at once. Sure enough, while Sam was in the process of explaining, in the most intimidating way possible, that he didn't see their new Operations Manager anywhere so why weren't they hacking, Natasha had walked in, taken a seat in the back of the room and sent Sam on his way.

It was that dismissal which had the ex-SEAL on his way to the gym, looking for some one-on-one time with the punching bag in what Hetty would surely have called an aggressive expression of male frustration. He smiled sadly at the thought. As if loosing Callen to a bullet wasn't bad enough, they'd lost Hetty to guilt too. In less than a month the two people around who the team centered themselves were gone, it was no wonder he felt so lost some days. Shaking his head to rid himself of the unwanted thoughts, he stepped into the gym and stopped, the sight of the punching bag already in use catching him off guard.

"Neely, what are you doing down here?"

The younger man started slightly and turned to face him, sweat soaking his face and neckline. "Sam, I didn't hear you come in…"

The two men stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Sam, who had expected further comment out of his new partner, was put off by his silence but, refusing to let it show, he made his way across the room and over to the stationary bikes. Not an ideal release of his pent-up emotions but it would have to do.

"What was Callen like?"

Pausing in the motion of mounting the bike, Sam stared across the gym at Neely who was still standing next to the punching bag. "What?" he demanded.

The younger man shrugged, wiping the perspiration from his face with a gloved hand. "I just wondered what Callen was like, that's all."

The dark skinned agent narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure what his partner was playing at but he didn't like it. "He was my best friend, my brother. I would have given my life for him if I could've," he said finally. It was all the truth, if not a little vague.

But Cameron didn't seem to mind. "Did you get along right away? Like, when you were teamed up?"

Sam felt a nostalgic smile working its way on to his face. "No. G was my opposite in a lot of ways, in fact he drove me crazy at first but he was the senior agent so I had to keep my mouth shut."

"And he ended up being your best friend?"

"Yeah…" the smile slipped from Sam's face as he eyed his new partner from across the room, "Why do you care, Neely?"

The younger agent shrugged again, this time turning back to the punching bag before answering quietly. "Just wondering…"


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**_

_Alright, I'd like to start off today's chapter with a bit of a rant which you may skip if you so choose. For years now I've taken in abandon/abused/unhealthy/dying or injured animals of all shapes and sizes, rehabilitated them and found them new and forever homes. This Christmas I got a phone call, there was a potbelly pig in trouble, did I have room? So that's where I've been since my last update, attempting to teach a traumatized pig to trust again. Now pigs are very, very smart, one of the smartest animals on earth, so it's not like working with a dog or cat or even a horse, they understand more than people realise and they don't forget. He's doing very well, and I think we've reached the point where I'll be getting some free time again (he played for the first time yesterday, you have no idea how magical it was to see) so hopefully this is the start of some more regular updates for all of my stories. Normally I would apologize for the gap between updates but not today, there are some things in life that are more important than fanfiction, teaching an animal to trust again is one of them._

_My final plea, to all of you is this: If you're going to get an animal, any animal be it a fish, mouse, hamster, dog, cat, pig, horse, goat, ferret, snake, or anything else you can think of please, please make sure that you have not only the financial means but also the knowledge, time and in some cases space for the critter you've chosen. What happened to this pig was completely preventable and it happens all the time to every sort of animal you can think of. All of them take work, all of them need attention and all of them need love but most of all they need understanding, they need someone who truly knows what they're getting into before they bring their new pet home. Do your research, please, and don't buy something just because it's cute. Who knows, maybe one day I won't get any more phone calls or animals left in boxes on my doorstep._

_Oh, one more thing, this chapter was written in an hour, it hasn't really been edited so please let me know if you spot anything that needs improvement. Also, any thoughts on plot would be appreciated as well. _

_There, that's my rant. I'm done now. XD Please enjoy the story!_

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

_**Nell**_

The Ops center was eerily silent, even the ever present sound of keystrokes was muted into almost nothingness as both the Information Analyst and the Computer Tech were moving their fingers as quietly as was humanly possible. Neither one of them wanted to draw any more attention to themselves than absolutely necessary. Since Sam had been shooed form the room several hours ago their new Operations Manager had set up residence in the back corner and sat there in stony silence, never moving or saying a word. This proved problematic for the pair as it prevented them from even beginning to hack into the FBI database, something they'd promised Sam they'd have done hours ago.

Personally, Nell was more interested in Natasha's seemingly extreme interest in their current case than worried about Sam's reaction. Eric may be afraid of the former SEAL but she wasn't, not really, most of the time… The tiny redhead shook herself mentally, forcing her mind back to the matter at hand, locating a missing baby. Perhaps that was why Natasha was making her presence known so much more than usual, the analyst had never thought to ask if she had any children…

"Okay, so…" Eric started slowly, his voice causing the heads' of both women to snap in his direction for it was the first sound they're heard in at least an hour, "I've sent Genevieve McArthur's information and photo to every airport, bus depot, port –" he cut himself off with a sheepish smile in the direction of their boss, "And so on… Basically she's not going far, and if she tries, we'll know. I've got Kaleidoscope looking as well."

Natasha, who had risen to her feet as the Computer Tech began to speak, nodded and made her way towards the front of the room. "Good work, Eric," she told him, "Nell?"

"I'm tracking all of her bank accounts and credit cards and hoping for a break that way," the analyst reported quickly, "I'm also running checks on anyone who might be willing to help her. So far nothing, though."

Again the Operations Manager nodded, heaving a sigh and tucking a stray piece of grey hair behind her ear. "Are these searches able to run on their own?" she asked.

Nell exchanged a quick look with Eric and saw that his face mirrored her own surprise. "Yes," she replied, "We'll be alerted as soon as they find something."

Silence enveloped the room once more and after a moment Nell felt safe to return her attention to the screen before her. She wasn't entirely sure what Natasha had been getting at, but she felt certain it would be brought up again soon so there didn't seem to be any reason for her to trouble herself over it. Glancing towards her partner, she noted that Eric seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he had returned to his work with an uneasy look on his face. Sure enough, barely ten minutes later, the young analyst's attention was drawn to her Operations Manager once more.

"Alright, I think you two have done all that you can for this evening," she said, moving towards the sliding doors of the Ops Center as she spoke, "If you could gather the rest of the team in the bullpen, I will address you all there."

They'd done all they could? Nell, who found the implication more than a little unsettling, opened her mouth to disagree but their boss had already left the room.

"We aren't giving up, are we?" Eric asked softly from beside her, his wide eyes illuminated by the artificial light of the many screens around them.

Nell narrowed her own eyes. "Not a chance."

* * *

_**Sam**_

"You want us to do what?" Sam's voice was deceptively calm, steady despite the shock he was feeling. He'd planned to pull an all-nighter, they all had, they had to.

"Go home, Sam," Natasha replying evenly, "I want all of you to go home and get some rest."

"We can't do that!" Kensi exclaimed sharply, "Eva Rowland is still missing and the more time passes the lower her chances of a safe return. We have to keep looking!"

Beside her, Deeks was nodding his agreement but was denied the opportunity to add his two cents by Nate, who chose that moment to speak up.

"I don't believe that Eva's life is in immediate danger," he said softly, looking around at his teammates, "Her grandmother is convinced that by doing this she's saving her, and as long as she continues to feel as though she's accomplishing that I think Eva's safe."

"Safe or not, the longer Genevieve McArthur has her granddaughter the better the chances of her disappearing with the kid," Sam pointed out.

"Eric and Nell have that fairly well covered," Natasha's gaze was fixed on her lead agent, as though she felt that if she got Sam on her side, the others would follow. "What this child really needs is a team of rested, focused agents with fresh eyes working to find her. Now I ask you all once again to go home. Please, do not make me make that an order."

Sam glanced around at his coworkers in an attempt to gage their reactions. Eric and Nell hovered in the open doorway of the bullpen, their expressions uncertain and disapproving respectively though neither of them said a word. Kensi was still fuming, the day having clearly taken its toll on her, just as it had on all of them… He shook the thought off quickly and instead continued with his observations, noting the concerned looks Deeks was shooting his partner and the wariness just visible in his eyes. It was a wary look mirrored by, to his surprise, Neely, who seemed to be trying his best to stay out of the conversation. Finally there was Nate, who looked just as tried he felt…

The ex-SEAL heaved a sigh. "She's right guys," he conceded, running a hand down his face and pinching the bridge of his nose, "Pulling an all-nighter won't help us on this one."

Kensi threw him a dirty look. "I'm not leaving."

"Yes you are, Kensi," this time there was no hint of a question in Natasha's voice, "That's an order. Go home. All of you. I'll see you all tomorrow." She turned and strode out of the bullpen without another word, though she did turn to give them one final, warning look before disappearing into her office.

As soon as their boss was out of earshot, Deeks let out a low whistle. "Well then… I guess that's it."

"Yeah," said Nate softly.

Slowly the group began gathering up their things, varying levels of frustration and anger lacing all of their movements. Sam was not at all surprised to see Kensi packing the photo albums she and Deeks had been going through into her bag and he made no move to stop her. Instead, he settled for shooting their resident detective a pointed look and Deeks, needing no further encouragement, hurried after his partner.

* * *

_**Callen**_

According to his newly purchased watch, it was just past eight and the sun had long disappeared below the horizon. The past six hours had seen Callen make his way on foot across the little town of Puerto Villamil, stopping to pick up a few simple supplies and rest his deteriorated body before locating and taking up the position he continued to occupy. He had managed to find good cover to the east of his target building, lying on his stomach some forty yards away behind a slight outcropping of rock and a few small shrubs. Despite the unforgiving position his vantage point gave him a good line of sight to the unpaved road which offered the only real access to the little, two-story house with the wraparound porch and the large windows. When he'd first arrived on the property he'd taken the time to explore it thoroughly, going so far as to break in to the house itself and memorize its layout until he felt comfortable that he could find his way around without trouble. If his captors were to be believed, his task was simply to keep surveillance on the house and report his observations back to them, nothing more. Of course, he had absolutely no reason to trust them so he felt it best to be prepared.

Shifting his weight slightly in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his protruding ribs and pelvis, the former agent sighed. Stakeouts were bad enough at the best of times but now, alone, and with his friends' lives hanging in the balance stress was beginning to eat him from the inside out. Every forty-five minutes, like clockwork, he called the number preprogrammed into his satellite phone and gave the emotionless voice on the on the other end of the line a situation report, which, since he'd settled into his hiding spot, hadn't included much of interest. Still, he refused to let his growing restlessness show, for the sake of his team back in Los Angeles he kept his emotions to himself using every ounce of undercover skill he possessed.

In an attempt to keep occupied, Callen went over what little he had been told about the new home owner in his head and settled on one simple question. What kind of person retires to the Galapagos Islands? He tried to imagine his teammates doing such a thing, just to pass the time. Sam and Kensi would both manage just fine, they shared the talent of able to survive with virtually nothing but he was sure that after a few months both would be on a flight back to their mother country. He could just see Sam complaining about sleeping without his trusty Chillow and Kensi suffering through withdrawal from her sugary treats. Deeks would be done for. He was a city slicker through and through and Callen couldn't imagine the detective lasting long in a place like this.

He chuckled softly to himself but winced and stopped quickly as his ribs dug into the ground with the movement. Propping himself up on his forearms to give his chest a break, the agent scanned the property and was rewarded, finally, for the first time since he'd taken up his position, with the sight of movement. A single truck was making its way slowly towards him, its headlights illuminating the dirt road on which it travelled. Moving stiffly, Callen dug the cheap pair of binoculars he'd bought from a store in town out of his bag and used them to track the vehicle until it came to a stop in front of the house. Even though it was almost dark the headlights provided enough light for him to make out the shadowy form of two people clambering out of the cabin. The driver, tall and clearly male, moved around to the back of the truck and began the process of unloading while his passenger stopped in glow of the headlights to stare up at her new home. With the driver out of sight, Callen focused instead on her tiny frame and nearly dropped the binoculars in shock. He should have known. What kind of person retires to the Galapagos Islands? The answer should have been obvious.

Hetty.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note:**_

_So… You remember how last chapter I said something about more regular updates? Well, you see, about that… Oops… XD Oh I could offer up all kinds of reasons for the wait, but honestly, this chapter was just hard to write. I don't know why. And my free time has been dreadfully limited as of late so that didn't help either. _

_But you don't care about any of that. _

_On a story-related note, this chapter was supposed to have another part to it but I've spent the last week trying to write it and it just wasn't coming so I'll just move it to one of the next two chapters. I figured you guys had waited long enough for this update already. But for those of you who are wondering, no, I have not forgotten about the FBI's investigation into Callen, that was the part I wasn't able to get finished. XD It's coming, I promise._

_**Happy Reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**_**  
**_

_**Hetty**_

Hetty woke in the early hours of the morning knowing something was wrong. Sitting up slowly, she pushed aside her light duvet and slid noiselessly out of bed, the gun she'd produced from beneath her pillow held steady in her hands. The house was silent around her but that fact did little to quell the feeling of unease. Having lived most of her adult life behind enemy lines she'd learned that these feelings were often more reliable than actual evidence and she intended to treat it as such.

Those same instincts beckoned her to the living room and, moving silently through the shadowy halls, she made her way there. The room itself was barely lit when she arrived, the pale morning sun just beginning to creep through the windows, but even still she could make out a man's silhouette in the semi-darkness. In fact that silhouette, the height, the posture, the build, was remarkably familiar… But she stopped the thought there. Familiar or not it was not, could not be, the man she hoped for.

Raising her weapon with a newfound determination she took a step forward. She'd come here to get away from her past, all of it, not see ghosts. "Do not move," she instructed calmly, "Raise your hands above your head and kindly explain to me your business here."

The figure froze, his back to her, and slowly raised his hands just as she's instructed but something about the motion seemed off. He did not jump when she spoke, nor did he turn to confirm that she did in fact have a weapon of some kind, he didn't start looking for escape routes or try to talk her down either. It was almost as though he expected her…

Again the recognition flashed across her mind and again she pushed it away. "You have not answered my question," she said instead.

Still there came no answer, instead the man turned around slowly, his hands still raised where she could see them, and his face came into view through the shadows. "Hetty," he said softly.

The beard was something she'd not seen before, the hair was longer than she'd grown accustom to and darkened by a great deal and every ounce of common sense was telling her that what she was seeing was impossible but still she knew. "How?" she asked, the gun dropping a few inches but still held firmly in her practiced hands.

The man gave a grim smile and took a few steps towards her, pulling down the collar over his oversized sweatshirt as he did so to reveal a raised, uneven scar just above his heart. "Closed casket funeral, I'm guessing."

And so it had been. She lowered her weapon in disgust and shook her head. Had she learned nothing over the years? Sam had been there, he'd felt the life leave his partner's body but even so she should have checked for herself… "Oh Mr. Callen," she closed the distance between them and took his hands in hers, taking note of the bones she'd never been able to feel before protruding through the skin, "I apologize…"

Callen shrugged (only his right shoulder, Hetty noted) and turned his smile into something more genuine. "It happens."

"It shouldn't."

Silence fell over them but neither of them felt compelled to move. Callen didn't even attempt to free his hands from his former Operations Manager's grasp. The prolonged physical contact along with the tension evident in his body was enough to worry the tiny woman somewhat and she squeezed his hands gently, moving to lead him silently towards the couch.

"No." And just like that the silence was broken and Callen finally tugged his hands free, shaking his head as he backed away a few steps. "I can't. I don't think they're watching but I don't want to push it…"

"Of course," said Hetty, nodding even as she took her own invitation and settled onto the couch, "Do we know who they are they?"

"We?" The look thrown his way caused a slight smile to work its way onto his face despite the tension still coursing through his body. "We then." He sighed suddenly and the smile fell away far more quickly than it had come. "I don't know who they are, but… Look they're well funded and they know what they're doing. Nothing about this is by chance. I was never meant to die, but they didn't seem overly concerned with my welfare apart from that –"

The tiny woman felt the worry rear its head once more as she was reminded all too clearly of the one-shouldered shrug and the bony hands, but she kept silent.

"– They have eyes inside NCIS, Hetty," Callen continued grimly, "That's why I have to be so careful. They have cameras in all the cars, and the bullpen and even Ops and they've implied that they've got people in position to kill any member of the team to moment I disobey them."

Hetty bowed her head, anger bubbling through her veins even as she resigned herself to the fact that they'd all been played. "Do you believe the threat?"

The bearded man looked away. "They're inside OSP, it's the only way they got the cameras in place… Yeah, I believe it."

The pair fell silent once again and Hetty could see the restlessness resonating from every fibre of Callen's being. She could sympathize with him; she'd felt the same fear and helplessness currently twisting the gut of the man she'd come to see as a son many times throughout her career and she wanted nothing more than to calm his muddled emotions.

"The place they were keeping me is two hours away by helicopter," the aforementioned man spoke up suddenly, "Central or South America. Nice building – modern – with a view of the ocean. There's a basement, purpose build out of concrete for confining prisoners, with elevator access to the upper floors. The conference room has state of the art technology. Everyone I've spoken to has been North American, no regional accents, no identifying marks, but I'd recognize them if I saw them again."

Heaving a sigh, the former Operations Manager brought her hands together in her lap. "What have they asked you to do?" she questioned.

"Run surveillance on your place, of course they didn't tell me whose place it was, I only found that out when you arrived. I had never even considered that it could be yours before that, I thought you were still in Los Angeles…"

Hetty heard the accusation in his voice clear as day but now was not the time to address his disappointment in her decision to leave. She'd been so sure that by leaving, by escaping to such a remote location, she might outrun her past. She'd been wrong. But she wouldn't make that mistake again. "Then you will do precisely that, Mr. Callen," she instructed firmly, holding up a hand to ward off any interruption, "Run surveillance as requested. Report in as required. Do not deviate from their orders again, and I will get you home."

And get him home she would, if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

_**Sam**_

"I. Am. A genius."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes and settled instead for shooting their resident detective a sharp glare as the younger man bounded dramatically into the bullpen.

Kensi, who was following in her partner's wake, showed no such restraint and rolled her eyes skyward as she flopped down at her desk. "You'd better ask him why," she said with a sigh, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, "He'll just stand there batting his eyelashes until you do."

Deeks, his grin widening, did just that, going so far as to tilt his head to one side to complete the effect.

Sam sent his glare Kensi's way. "Don't encourage him," he grumbled but he found there was no heat behind his words.

"Uh, I feel like I'm missing something…" Neely's voice was the first indication of his approach and he entered the bullpen casting each of his coworkers a confused look as he did so.

Again the temptation to roll his eyes struck, and again Sam pushed it away. "You are," he told his partner shortly before turning his attention back to the grinning blond before him, "Alright, Deeks, spill."

"I know where Genevieve McArthur took Eva."

The dark skinned agent felt one eyebrow raise of its own accord, he wasn't sure exactly what he'd been expecting but it was that.

"You do?" Neely asked, the surprise Sam felt magnified on the rookie's face, "Really?"

"Yes, he really – " Kensi began, but Deeks cut her off.

"Disneyland. Just like I predicted yesterday. She took Eva to the most magical place on earth."

For a full thirty seconds the bullpen was silent as the detective's statement sunk in. Sam, for one, couldn't help but think the notion was fairly farfetched but something, maybe the investigator's instinct he'd honed over the years, kept him quiet. Despite his class-clown persona, Deeks was very good at his job and the conviction in his statement had caught the older man's attention.

This instinct had apparently bypassed Neely, however. "You're not serious," he said, his tone reflecting the disbelief on his face perfectly.

The blond's smile grew – all but confirming his lead agent's feeling that this was anything but a joke – and he took a step forward. "Serious as a heart attack, young Neely," he said cheerfully, "Serious as a – "

"Just show them the pictures, Deeks," Kensi cut in impatiently, thrusting one of the Rowland family's photo albums into his hands with her usual amount of force.

The detective, to his credit, absorbed the blow with a practiced ease and flipped the book open without missing a beat. "Based on the photos in this album, and those in the others as well, Genevieve McArthur took her daughter to Disneyland each and every year, in fact it looks like they started going the very year Sarah was born."

"So it seems like it would be a likely place for her to hide out with her granddaughter," Kensi continued, picking up for her partner easily, "If she's taken her to raise her in what she considers to be the 'proper' way then she'll probably be looking to start up her old traditions again."

"Besides, it's really easy to get lost in that place," Deeks added, "Trust me…"

Sam nodded. "Seems logical," he agreed, "But let's get Eric and Nell to do their thing and hopefully prove that's where she went before we brief Natasha."

As general sounds of affirmation overtook the group, Deeks grinned once more. "We're going to Disneyland!" he said brightly.

And finally Sam rolled his eyes.


End file.
